Written by Bartholomew Barker
Standing amid the smoldering wreckage
of my life with just a few scratches
I wonder how I got so lucky
Somehow I survived a childhood
of sadistic schoolyard bullies
and teenage double-dog-dares
While so many of my colleagues and lovers
are still trying to dig out from the debris
of racist cops and handsy bosses
We’ve all suffered losses
of friends and sanity
of limbs and memory
and the belief
that it all happened
for some reason
But there’s no higher purpose
we’re just the unlucky survivors
left behind to clean up the mess
Text © Bartholomew Barker
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I went to see the Doctor this morning. I might need to undergo some uncomfortable procedures. I was fretting about it – then I thought…. “Hang on a minute – you’re not being bombed. Your house hasn’t just fallen down – on top of your family. What have you go to gripe about?”
Bart’s poem was a timely message. I told the Doc about it.
Insightful poem, Bartholomew. All of us are survivors of something, some things more disastrous than others.
Love and luck are for the living. I guess the prize is we get to live through even more disasters.
Thanks for publishing my poem!
I share your sadness… lucky survivors indeed! Why can’t we all just love one another??
Agreed. How much are we “lucky enough” to have survived before we get an actual prize?